Wanton in the West Read online

  Wanton in the West

  Lisa Plumley

  Arizona Territory, 1884

  Everyone in the small town of Morrow Creek knows that Adeline has been sweet on Clayton Davis for years—and that he still hasn’t proposed! While Adeline reluctantly waits for her man, Clayton is falsely accused of being a thief and the sheriff is hot on his tail. Now Adeline has to do everything in her power to stop him leaving town, even if she has to be positively indecent to make Clayton stay by her side—and in her bed….

  Dear Reader,

  When my editor graciously invited me to try writing a Harlequin Historical Undone, I had only one possible setting in mind: my favorite Arizona Territory town, Morrow Creek. I had a wonderful time dreaming up Adeline’s and Clayton’s story—and meeting Violet Benson, too! In fact, I found Violet so intriguing that she’ll have her very own story in an upcoming book. I’m working on it right now, and I think it’ll be a fun one!

  If you enjoyed this story, I hope you’ll try another book in my Morrow Creek series, which includes Mail-Order Groom which was out in December 2010, The Bride Raffle coming in April 2011, and several others. You can learn about all my books at my Web site, www.lisaplumley.com. While you’re there, you can also download a complete book list, sign up for new-book alerts, read sneak previews of upcoming books, request special reader freebies, and more. I hope you’ll stop by today.

  As always, I’d love to hear from you! You can visit me online at community.eharlequin.com/users/lisaplumley, send e-mail to [email protected], “friend” me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/pages/Lisa-Plumley/15694171151, follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/LisaPlumley, or write to me c/o P.O. Box 7105, Chandler, AZ 85246-7105.

  Happy reading,

  Lisa Plumley

  To John, with all my love, now and forever.

  Contents

  Begin Reading

  July 1884

  Morrow Creek, northern Arizona Territory

  On hot summer days, most women longed for a cool breeze, a refreshing fan, or a bracing lemonade. Adeline Wilson was different. On the hottest day in the memory of any Morrow Creek resident, Adeline longed for lace—yards and yards of Brussels lace, fashioned into a very specific garment: a bridal veil.

  The moment Adeline stepped inside Mr. Hofer’s overstuffed mercantile, she spied that pile of ivory lace. It beckoned to her amid the wares and hubbub and smells of tobacco and pickles. There seemed no choice but to beeline toward it, all the better to examine its fine stitches, savor its undoubted softness, and imagine herself the bride she so yearned to be…someday.

  The lace felt exactly as wondrous as she expected. Delicate and whisper thin, it deserved much better than to be abandoned on the counter by a previous customer, the way it apparently had been. Irresistibly tempted, Adeline drew the lacy bridal veil to her cheek. Envisioning herself wearing it, she sighed.

  “Ah! So then it has happened!” Mrs. Hofer bustled over, beaming as she spoke in her accented voice. “Young Mr. Davis has finally proposed! We all knew he would. This is a happy day!”

  As though she’d been stung, Adeline lowered the veil. Beside her, her closest friend, Violet Benson, gasped in shock.

  “He’s proposed? Clayton’s proposed to you? Adeline! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! We’ve come all this way to town—”

  “No. He hasn’t proposed.” This time, Adeline dropped the veil altogether. For good measure, she jabbed it with her elbow, just to make sure it stayed far away from her—and her foolish, much-too-public dreams. “At least, not yet, he hasn’t,” she added with a lift of her chin. “But I’m sure, very soon, he’ll—”

  She broke off, unable to actually voice her dearest hope: He’ll ask me to be his bride, and we’ll be married at last.

  Violet stared at her in distress. So did Mrs. Hofer. Adeline felt unaccountably responsible for disappointing them.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hofer,” she said. “And Violet too. Please don’t feel bad for mentioning it. It was a reasonable mistake—”

  “Yes, it was. Especially given how long Clayton Davis has kept you waiting on him,” Violet interrupted, her usual good cheer temporarily overridden by loyal indignation. “Almost two years now!” she grumbled, “with his smiles and his charm and his refusal to give you a wedding ring. The nerve of him!”

  “Clayton isn’t lacking in nerve,” Adeline disagreed. “And as for the wedding ring… Well, he says he’s saving up.”

  Mrs. Hofer gave her a dubious look. So did Violet. So did, Adeline fancied, all the other customers in the mercantile. In Morrow Creek, folks tended to know one another’s lives fairly intimately. Everyone here knew she’d been sweet on Clayton for years—and he, on her. It was a fact. Like wrinkles in freshly laundered shirts. Or tight, uncomfortable corsetry in July.

  Shifting awkwardly in her copious layers of dress and petticoats and undergarments, Adeline decided she’d better just get on with what she’d come here for. Otherwise, she’d find herself in a debate she couldn’t win about her beloved Clayton.

  “Anyway,” she said brightly, “could I please have a few things, Mrs. Hofer?” She consulted her list. “Four yards of that calico, there—” she pointed “—and ten pounds of cornmeal, and a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s vegetable compound. The large one, please. Mrs. Fullham’s rheumatism is acting up again,” Adeline explained, “so I promised I’d do some shopping for her today.”

  As the mercantile owner’s wife bustled off to collect the necessary items, Adeline felt her smile wobble slightly. But she refused to buckle completely. She might feel a bit…conspicuous about her long-standing courtship with Clayton Davis, but that didn’t mean she was giving up on him. Not by a mile.

  She straightened her spine. There. That was better. With her neighborly mission well underway, she felt strong and proud.

  Violet nudged her. “You can fool Mrs. Hofer, but you can’t fool me, Adeline! I’ve known you since…well, forever! I saw the way you looked at that bridal veil.” Her friend’s concerned gaze met hers. “Are you sure you’re holding up all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Adeline promised. “So is Clayton. We are fine.”

  Violet frowned, plainly unconvinced.

  “Don’t worry, Violet. I’m not one of your charity cases, you know. I can manage for myself.” Spotting the famously helpful gleam in her friend’s eyes, Adeline hastened to assure Violet. Her friend—the minister’s daughter—was renowned for her good works in Morrow Creek. “Clayton and I… We’ll be fine. And we’ll be married soon, too. I know we will. Don’t you worry.”

  “I can’t help worrying! You so deserve to be happy.” Violet gave her an empathetic look. “And I want to help. I’ve been thinking about this, and it all boils down to this: You’re too available to Clayton. You’re too here, in Morrow Creek—”

  “Well, strictly speaking, Papa’s farm is outside of town—”

  “—where Clayton can see you whenever he wants to!” Violet put her hands on her hips, casting a friendly—if unnervingly conspiratorial glance—at Mrs. Hofer as she gathered Adeline’s purchases for Mrs. Fullham in a cast-off box. “What you need,” Violet concluded, “is a chance for Clayton Davis to miss you.”

  Adeline scoffed. But Violet appeared downright enthralled by her theory. Clearly gathering steam, she went on talking.

  “You need to shake up Clayton a bit! He’s taking you for granted, plain as day, and you’re letting him. Why, with just the smallest nudge, or maybe just a teensy bit of subterfuge, we could properly sway Clayton in the direction of a proposal.”

  “Subterfuge? Whatever are you talking about?”

  Violet shrugged. “A…harmless scheme. For his own good.”

  Adeline shook her head. “I d
on’t want to trick Clayton into marrying me!” Aghast at the notion, she paid Mrs. Hofer. She hefted her box, then left the bustling mercantile behind. On the dusty boardwalk outside, Adeline raised her voice to be heard above the passing wagons and the riders with horses ajangle with tack. “I want Clayton to want to marry me. And he does.”

  “You still don’t have a ring. Or a bridal veil to wear.”

  “I have Clayton’s love. For now, that’s enough for me.”

  On the heels of Adeline’s pronouncement, Mrs. Hofer emerged from the mercantile. She flagged down Adeline and Violet. Red-faced and breathless, she added the vegetable compound—which she’d apparently forgotten—to Adeline’s box of goods. Then Mrs. Hofer leaned forward, her kindly face awash in sympathy.

  “Don’t you worry, Miss Wilson,” the older lady said. “I made sure to tell all my other customers you are not engaged yet. Now, no one else will congratulate you and embarrass you!”

  “Oh.” Flustered, Adeline nodded. “Thank you so much.”

  “You are welcome.” Mrs. Hofer squeezed her shoulder. “You are a good girl. Like my own daughter. Who is married. With many babies. But…” A shrug. “Such a life is not for everyone, no?”

  “No.” Adeline’s smile wobbled again. “I guess not.”

  But just then, she longed fiercely for that life. For Clayton, babies and a veil of Brussels lace to start it all.

  Violet poked her. She waggled her eyebrows comically.

  “Now will you let me help you with this Clayton problem?”

  This Clayton problem. Adeline sighed. Was her handsome, sweet and beyond respectful beau a problem? If only he would treat her as the bride she so hankered to be…but he wouldn’t.

  “No.” Adeline nodded goodbye to Mrs. Hofer, then swiveled. Companionably, she walked onward with Violet. “It’s not that I don’t treasure your loyalty—and your dedication to the cause of seeing me contentedly married—because I do. I truly do! But I wouldn’t be happy knowing I’d bamboozled Clayton into marriage.”

  “Well, then. Maybe someone will have to do it for you!”

  “No.” Adeline was firm. “Whatever you’re thinking…no!”

  “It’s not as though we’d be forcing Clayton to do something he doesn’t already want to do. He’s willing, just tardy! I could easily squeeze in the project between reading to orphans and delivering dinners to veterans with the ladies’ auxiliary club.”

  “Violet, no! If I wanted to ‘nudge’ Clayton, I would.”

  “All right.” Violet seemed resigned. Then she pointed. “Look! Isn’t that another veil? Of Duchesse lace, this time?”

  Before she could think, Adeline veered for the display in a nearby shop window—betrayed, quite obviously, by her own fondest desires. Halfway there, she stopped. Dismayed, she turned.

  “See?” she told Violet. “I’m absolutely no good at hiding my feelings—not for an instant. I could never trick Clayton!”

  For the first time that day, her friend seemed to agree. Sagely, Violet nodded. “I see that. All right. I’ll leave off all this subterfuge talk. You just go on waiting for Clayton.”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do.” Adeline cast a mischievous glance at Violet. “But first, I want to see that Duchesse lace up close.” She grabbed her. “Come on!”

  There at the shop window, Adeline allowed herself to dream all over again. She dreamed of lacy veils and fancy dresses, of wishes and kisses, and of meeting Clayton at the altar.

  Wherever Clayton was just then, Adeline hoped with all her heart that he was dreaming exactly the same dreams she was. She’d pinned a lot of hopes on her dependable—if tardy—beau. She knew, deep down in her soul, he was worth it.

  “You are worth five hundred dollars, Clayton Davis. No questions asked, as a reward to the man who catches you.” Violet Benson nodded, her gaze as pious as her papa’s sermons were every Sunday morning. “I wouldn’t have said a thing, except I know you couldn’t have done that stealing you’re accused of.”

  “Stealing?” Frowning, Clayton kept on walking. Beside him, Violet hurried to keep up. He felt tired, hungry and powerfully confused. He didn’t have time for gossip—not even if it was about him. “That can’t be right. I’ve never stolen anything. This must be some kind of mistake.”

  Violet nodded. “That’s exactly what I thought. Until…”

  Unwillingly hooked by the dire tone of her voice, Clayton glanced at her. Now she was biting her lip, he saw. And wringing her hands. And frowning. Her concerned demeanor gave him pause.

  Aside from his beloved Adeline, Violet Davis was the kindest, most unimpeachable woman in town. Violet was renowned for good deeds and helping the unfortunate. If she were worried about this—however preposterous it was—maybe he should be, too.

  “Until…what?” He strode past Jack Murphy’s saloon. Raucous music spilled from inside. “Just come out with it.”

  “Until…” Another despairing glance. “Until I heard Sheriff Caffey was rounding up a posse to hunt you down!”

  Clayton gawked. “A posse? Me? That’s plumb ridiculous.”

  “Well, you know Sheriff Caffey. He’s tough. This is his town. He never misses a chance to bring in a miscreant or two.”

  “Or to get his name in the newspaper.” Just in the past month, Pioneer Press editor Thomas Walsh had featured the sheriff’s “daring” exploits three times. “Funny how it doesn’t make the newspaper when the charges against folks are dropped.”

  Violet demurred. “That’s only happened once or twice.”

  “That’s once or twice too many, when it comes to innocent folks.” Clayton deepened his frown. “If it hadn’t been for the circuit judge coming to town when he did, those people would have been stuck in Sheriff Caffey’s jail a whole lot longer.”

  “Probably so,” Violet mused unhappily. “The circuit judge is a mite more fair minded than the sheriff.”

  That was putting it kindly, Clayton knew. Sheriff Caffey was notoriously hardheaded, ridiculously bloodthirsty and not an inch above corruption. Every man in town knew it. Those with a shortfall of integrity used the sheriff’s corruptibility for their own ends—by paying to have rival ranchers harassed, for instance, or arranging to “detain” business competitors awhile.

  But Violet wouldn’t be likely to admit anything like that. She, like Adeline, tended to believe the best about people.

  Clayton aimed a probing look at her. “You say the sheriff is after me now?” That had to be a mistake. Surely even Sheriff Caffey got things unintentionally wrong sometimes. Clayton didn’t have any enemies in town, and he certainly hadn’t stolen anything. “But I’ve been at work at the mill all day.”

  He gestured in the direction of Marcus Copeland’s lumber mill operation. As a skilled sawer, Clayton was in demand as much for his considerable brawn as for his brains and expertise.

  Violet wrinkled her nose. “Excuses won’t matter much, if the sheriff’s posse shoots first and collects the reward later.”

  “‘Excuses’?” Tipping his head to the clear summertime sky, Clayton exhaled. His shoulders ached from hauling lumber. His mind whirled with thoughts of blazing rifles. All he wanted was to go home, have a bath, then maybe pay a call to Adeline. “It’s not an excuse. I’m innocent! I’ll go see Caffey after supper and straighten out this mess. Once I explain myself, he’ll see—”

  “No!” Holding up her palms, Violet glanced around the town square. Passersby moved past them with a purpose Clayton wanted to mimic, headed safely home or elsewhere. Wild-eyed, Violet leaned in. “Don’t be chowderheaded. Don’t you think that’s exactly what he wants? For you to surrender? Think, Clayton!”

  “I am thinking. I’m thinking this is crazy. Thanks for the warning, but I just don’t need it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  “You do need it!” Urgently Violet grabbed his arm, seeming twice as distraught as she had when she’d first waylaid him on the way home from the lumber mill. “I’m telling you, I heard Sher
iff Caffey discussing all this with his deputy. If you go home now, they’ll be waiting there to arrest you.”

  Clayton scoffed. But the certainty in Violet’s eyes was unmistakable. She believed what she was telling him. Devoutly.

  He’d never known Violet to tell a falsehood. No one had.

  “You have to listen to me!” Violet insisted. “You have to get out of the town square, too, before someone sees you and catches you!” To that end, she tugged Clayton toward a more private spot—a hidden area near the schoolhouse, by the big ponderosa pine where schoolmarm McCabe read storybooks to her students. School wasn’t in session, but the tale Violet told him next was every bit as far-fetched as something in a dime novel.

  Evidently Sheriff Caffey thought Clayton had masterminded a whole series of robberies. According to Violet, he’d told his deputy he had an irreproachable eyewitness to the thievery. He’d bragged that his posse would round up Clayton before nightfall and bring him to justice before dawn.

  Hearing that, Clayton swallowed hard. He no longer cared about his bath, his dinner, or the envelope of pay money he’d looked forward to adding to his bankroll of savings tonight.

  All he cared about—as ever—was Adeline.

  “If I’m killed by a posse, it will break Adeline’s heart.”

  Violet blinked. “It won’t do much for you, either!”

  Distractedly Clayton waved away her concerns. “I don’t care about myself. I’ll be fine. But I might be stuck in jail for a long while, waiting for the circuit judge to come by—”

  “Stuck? In jail? But you’re not still going to—”

  “Talk to Sheriff Caffey? I am. It’s only sensible.”

  “But…Clayton! You have to run! It’s the only way.”

  At that, Clayton balked. Something about this didn’t seem quite right to him. “I’m not a man who runs away. I didn’t do anything wrong. Eventually the truth will come out.”

 
-->